Veradana
Member
There was a reason why Hotaru didn’t go to arcades; feeling like she had a spike driven though her head was still on the lower priority end of things since it didn’t result in a bunch of people thinking she was dying and needed an ambulance. She’d all but thrown the headset off her face and set her head down in her arms, eyes squeezed shut, willing the migraine to pass more quickly. The last thing she or her group needed was for her to be a wreck every time they came back from that world.
Her cellphone buzzed in her hands, although it wasn’t really her phone. A pixilated version of Lunamon stared back at her when she glanced at it.
“Hotaru, are you okay? You look sick.”
Hotaru mumbled an affirmative, and started petting the pixel-Lunamon with her finger, giggling alongside her digimon as little pixel music notes spread out on the screen.
“I’ll feel better once I take some medicine” she pushed herself to her feet, massaging her forehead as the pain spiked again. “Sorry for worrying you.”
She took the phone with her as she left ‘her’ room; there had been no panicked messages from her dad, nothing from him or from any one of her friends, and thankfully, no new messages from anyone who she’d need to block. The rest of the apartment didn’t try to match her own. Other than her bedroom and the expected bath and toilet rooms, there was only a small kitchen. At least she could still find acetaminophen, which she took two tablets of without even reading the package. It was also enough space for her to make some tea for herself later.
The decision to check the mail-box was a spontaneous one, considering there was no one here who would send her anything. Although, if whatever power had taken them here could create fully furnished apartments for each of them, then maybe it could create other things. And that was why Hotaru braved the blinding sun to find her mailbox, staring down a ticket to some visual-kei band she’d never heard of, supposedly sent from one of her aunts.
Crow
Her cellphone buzzed in her hands, although it wasn’t really her phone. A pixilated version of Lunamon stared back at her when she glanced at it.
“Hotaru, are you okay? You look sick.”
Hotaru mumbled an affirmative, and started petting the pixel-Lunamon with her finger, giggling alongside her digimon as little pixel music notes spread out on the screen.
“I’ll feel better once I take some medicine” she pushed herself to her feet, massaging her forehead as the pain spiked again. “Sorry for worrying you.”
She took the phone with her as she left ‘her’ room; there had been no panicked messages from her dad, nothing from him or from any one of her friends, and thankfully, no new messages from anyone who she’d need to block. The rest of the apartment didn’t try to match her own. Other than her bedroom and the expected bath and toilet rooms, there was only a small kitchen. At least she could still find acetaminophen, which she took two tablets of without even reading the package. It was also enough space for her to make some tea for herself later.
The decision to check the mail-box was a spontaneous one, considering there was no one here who would send her anything. Although, if whatever power had taken them here could create fully furnished apartments for each of them, then maybe it could create other things. And that was why Hotaru braved the blinding sun to find her mailbox, staring down a ticket to some visual-kei band she’d never heard of, supposedly sent from one of her aunts.
Crow